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The Little Girl I Used 
to Love 

and Other Poems 



By 
Herbert H. Brown 



With 
An Introduction by Prof. John Davison 




The Brown Press Company" 

Lima, Ohio 

1907 



^o3 






'i fwo Oepies 

I FEB 29 1908 
|cus»A 



Copyright, 1907 
by Herbert H. Brown 



TO 

MY MOTHER 

THIS LITTLE BOOK OF LYRICS IS 
LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Little Girl I Used to Love 9 

Hush-a-By 12 

When Amandt Sings Her Best 13 

When de Rain's a-comin' Down 15 

The Literary Man 17 

My Captain 19 

I Held Her Hand 21 

rudyard kepling 22 

That Dear Old Flag of Ours 23 

Tears 25 

Jothan Johnson 27 

A Bereaved Mother's Wail 28 

Pour Down, O Pitiless Rain 30 

John Brown 31 

My Little Girl 33 

The Hermit 35 

My Wife and Children 37 

The Night Express 38 

Ideal Lovers 41 

The Battle of the Poets 43 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Paul Lawrence Dunbar 45 

Two Graves 47 

Dar's a Grand Dat Comin' 50 

The Cross Goes with the Crown 52 

Delarey 53 

Indirection 55 

The Daring Soldier Boy 56 

A Home Song 58 

The Old Songs and the New 59 

A Cuban 's Love Song 60 

The Eleventh Hour 62 

The Breaking of the Levee 63 



INTRODUCTION 

TT HAS been my good fortune to read 
■*■ the lines of the Lima Lyrist, Herbert 
H. Brown, as they have appeared in 
various publications, from time to time. I 
shall not soon forget the pleasure that 
some of these verses have given me, and I 
am glad that they are now to be pub- 
lished in more enduring form. 

These poems treat not only of the 
needs of the present but of all time, — 
love, and hope, and faith, and fidelity, — 
the transforming ideals of life. They 
touch the carbon of ordinary experience 
and change it into crystal. They trans- 
figure the common things of every day 
into forms of poetic beauty and lyrical 
loveliness. They deal with the great 
elemental things that concern every man, 
woman and child. Though the songs of 
the masters may carry farther than any 
of the verses in this little volume, these 
minor notes are of real worth. May they 
have the welcome they deserve. 

John Davison. 
Lima, Ohio, Nov. 30, 1907. 



The Little Girl I Used to Love 
and Other Poems 

J* 
THE LITTLE GIRL I USED TO LOVE 

With joy akin to rapture I recall the smiling 

face 
Of one who was my sweetheart in the olden 

time and place; 
Across the years I hear her voice in cadence 

sweet and low — 
The little girl I used to love so many years ago. 

Down on the quaint old rustic bridge we sat 

in days gone by, 
The singing birds around us filled the air with 

melody; 
And all their loving ecstasies in music seemed 

to flow 
For the little girl I used to love so many years 

ago. 

9 



10 



THE LITTLE GIRL I USED TO LOVE 



In fancy I can see her yet — her checkered 

bonnet worn 
Upon a mass of shining curls, the edges frayed 

and torn; 
Nor did she look less lovely dressed in simple 

calico — 
The little girl I used to love so many years ago. 

And far across the meadows, in the quiet 
eventide, 

Again I see her coming with "old Shepherd" 
by her side — 

An artist's living picture in the dying sun- 
set's glow — 

The little girl I used to love so many years 
ago. 

Again I press her little hand beneath the star- 
lit skies, 

Again I feel the thrilling glance of loving, 
trustful eyes; 

Again I tremble, tremble — will she answer 
"yes" or "no?"— 

The little girl I used to love so many years ago. 



THE LITTLE GIRL I USED TO LOVE H 



My fancies seem to wander with that old 

sweetheart tonight, 
Although my wife is sitting here beside me 

while I write; 
And smilingly she chides me for the praises 

I bestow, 
For she's the girl I used to love so many years 

ago. 



HUSH-A-BY 

A mother sings a melody, 

The night winds softly sob and sigh, 

"Hush-a-by! hush-a-by!" 
Beside a crib the whole night long 
A mother sings this plaintive song: 

1 'Hush-a-by ! hush-a-by ! 
Baby -by!" 

While tears from sleepless eyelids flow 
A mother sings, sings soft and low: 

"Hush-a-by! hush-a-by!" 
She fears to see the morning light! 
Her babe is dying in the night — 

"Hush-a-by! hush-a-by! 
Baby -by!" 



12 



WHEN AMANDY SINGS HER BEST 

I've heard the Prima Donnas, them that's 

clumb the heights of fame, 
A-singin' in ' 'grand op'ra, " but she puts 'em 

all to shame. 
Ever hear a wild canary pourin' music from 

its nest? 
Well, that's her kind o' singin' — when Amandy 

sings her best! 

Her voice is sweet an' thrillin' in its quaint, 

melojous flow, 
A swingin' free an' eazy from the high notes 

to the low; 
An' when she sings I most fergit she's human, 

fer she jest 
Seems like a singin' angel — when Amandy 

sings her best! 



13 



14 WHEN AMAND7 SINGS HER BEST 



Oh, when yer soul is weary from the toilin' 

of the day, 
An' all yer lovin' dreams of youth are fadin' 

fast away, 
It's like the balm of Giliad to the heart within 

yer breast 
To sit an' calmly listen — when Amandy sings 

her best! 

Sometime you'll want to hear her, an' I really 

want you to, 
An* when you've heard her sing I know you'll 

say when she is through, 
You've heard an immertation of the sweet songs 

of the blest — 
Yer gittin' close to Heaven — when Amandy 

sings her best! 



WHEN DE RAIN'S A-COMIN' 
DOWN 

Folks is vehy apt to grumble 

When de sky is ovah-cas\ 
An* de 'peahanc' ob de fuchaw 

Ain't no brightah dan de pas'! 
But de sun keeps on a-shinin' 

Tho' de heabens wa'r a frown. 
An' my soul keeps on a-singin' 

When de rain's 

A-coniin' 

Down! 

I ain't posted much on 'ligion, 

An' I don't p'tend to know 
Ef de angels up in heaben 

Evah visit heah below; 
But I's got a so't o' notion 

Dar is spirits hangin' 'roun' 
When de win' begins to whisper 

An' de rain's 

A-comin' 

Down. 



15 



16 WHEN DE RAIN'S A-COMIN' DOWN 



Oh, dis life is full o' crosses 

To de chil'run ob de earth, 
An' we git a peck o' trouble 

Mos' fo' ev'ry pint o' mirth. 
But Fa jes' so glad an' happy 

Dat my cross becomes a crown, 
When de oP house gits to rockin' 

An' de rain's 

A-comin' 

Down. 



When de night is wild an' sto'my, 

An' no stars am in de sky, 
Wif de thundah roarin' gran'ly, 

An' de lightnin' flashin' by; 
Den we open up de ohgan, 

Wife an' chil'run gadder 'roun', 
Sing de Mastah's praise an' glory — 

When de rain's 

A-comin' 

Down. 



THE LITERARY MAN. 

He has a cozy little "den", wherein his books 
are piled — 

Rare tomes unknown to common folk, but com- 
mon to the guild; 

And rare and costly bric-a-brac imported from 
Japan, 

And curios from Egypt — has the Literary Man. 

He has a lengthy Roman nose, a shock of yellow 
hair; 

His voice is low and musical, his manner de- 
bonair ; 

He wears a broad-brimmed sombrero to obviate 
the tan — 

And other marks of genius has the Literary 
Man! 



17 



18 



THE LITERARY MAN 



Now if you are a maiden fair, and wish to win a 

prize, 
Approach the subject of my sketch, and laud 

him to the skies ; 
And if he doesn't worship you, he'll love you all 

he can — 
For half a dozen sweethearts has the Literary 

Man! 



MY CAPTAIN 

To God I lift my humble drift 

Of thought, unfettered, free, 

And trust my soul shall find its goal 

When life is done for me: 

Shall find the realm where humble folk kneel 

at the throne of God, — 
Sweet souls to whom the world begrudged a 

good six feet of sod! — 
Sweet souls that struggled on thro' life, inured 

to pain and loss, 
And, dying, met the smile of Him who died 
upon the cross. 
O heart! forget to beat, 

O hands! forget to cling; 
From earth enticed by a loving Christ, 
O soul! arise and sing! 



19 



20 MY CAPTAIN 



The stream was long, the current strong, 

With darkness on the shore; 
Swung thro' the dark my fragile barque, 
Sans anchor, sail, or oar. 
But, hist! 1 hear a whispered song from Love's 

celestial sphere, 
And over all the fragrant lands the sun is 

shining clear; 
And there, amid the radiant host, my soul's 

dear Captain stands 
And welcomes me with smiling lips, and wide 
extending hands. 
O heart! forget to beat, 

O hands! forget to cling; 
From earth enticed by a loving Christ, 
O soul! arise and sing! 



I HELD HER HAND. 

A splashing rain fell all the dreary morning; 

I held her hand, and bade her keep good 
cheer; 
As night approached I saw the moon adorning 

The skies above our western hemisphere. 
For God had cleared the skies, as if expecting 

Some lovely visitor from earth below; 
I held her hand — no longer now rejecting 

A home with God, she was in haste to go! 

I held her hand. My eyes were brimming over 

With gushing tears I could no longer hide; 

And she — all smiles! as if some angel lover 

Far up in heaven was beckoning to his bride. 

Just at the noon of night I drew the curtain, 

And she looked forth with eager, wistful eyes; 
And thus she left us, whispering she was 
"certain 
Of home and heaven beyond the darkened 
skies." 



21 



22 



RUDYARD KIPLING 



RUDYARD KIPLING 

With cup, and branch, and a festal wreath, 
With blaze, and music, and trumpet-din, 

Like singer of old with a harp of gold, 
We will sing the singer in. 

He may be rough and brutal enough 
To stranger and friend and kin, 

But even then he's the king of men! 
We will sing the singer in. 

'T is a tiresome game — this toil for fame, 
So here's to the man who could win! 

W r ith hearts aglow with the love we owe. 
We will sing the singer in. 

All praise to him; long days to him 

To scatter his songs about; 
And may it be long, O Man of Song, 

Ere we sing the singer out! 



THAT DEAR OLD FLAG OF OURS 
I 

There is one banner freemen love 

Above all other flags — 
Whether 'tis new, of spotless hue, 

Or soiled and torn to rags; 
Whether 'tis covered o'er with dust, 

Or festooned 'round with flowers, 
We love it still — and always will — 

That dear old flag of ours. 

II 

That banner never trailed for long, 

Trampled by foreign foe; 
For Yankee boys were brave and strong, 

As tyrants came to know. 
Where'er that banner flecks the sky 

The kingly tyrant cowers; 
Columbia's sons keep loaded guns 

Behind that flag of ours! 



23 



24 THAT DEAR OLD FLAG OF OURS 



III 



And many men would march again 

Beneath its sacred folds, 
To right a wrong, or loose a thong 

Enchaining human souls! 
For e're that banner cheered the boys 

Where fell the leaden showers; 
And well they fought and nobly wrought 

Beneath that flag of ours! 



IV 



Thro' hopes and fears, thro' countless years 

May that bold banner wave, 
And proudly mark the shrouded dark 

Where sleep our honored brave. 
Long may that lovely banner soar 

'Mid summer's suus and showers; 
And poets praise in sweetest lays 

That dear old flag of ours. 



TEARS 

I 
Tears e'er bedew the path of love; 

Tears are the coin of love's regret; 
Not till he seeks the realms above 

Shall man abide with eyes unwet; 
Since Adam's day, man's weary feet have trod 
A thorny pathway up the hills to God. 



II 



Tears are soul-essences that gush 

From soul to heart, from heart to eyes, 

As tempests come — as wild winds rush 
Across the naked, moonless skies, 

And break upon ambrosial mignonettes 

And timid daisies and pale violets. 



25 



26 



TEARS 



III 



Not always do tears come thro' pain 
Of body-hurts, or inward sting; 

Tears to the body are as rain 

Is to the earth — engendering 

Sweet-scented thoughts, that bloom like nature's 
flowers, 

To make full sweet our last departing hours. 



JOTHAN JOHNSON 

Jothan Johnson, hale and hearty, 

Jothan Johnson, kind and clever, 

Woo'd the fair and blushing Nancy, 
Won and kept her love forever. 

She could choose a path of roses, 

Men of riches came to greet her ; 

But the path of poverty 

Walk'd with Jothan seem'd the sweeter. 



He was bashful, she was modest; 

He was kind and she was tender; 
Nancy looked on Jothan Johnson, 

And he cried, "Love, I surrender." 

Living humbly, where the roses 

Cluster 'round a portal shady, 

Angels hardly know their rapture — 
Jothan Johnson and his lady! 



27 



28 



A BEREAVED MOTHER'S WAIL 

Mine is the sorrow unbeguiled, 

And mine the crown of thorns! 

Dear Lord, 'tis for an only child 
A loving parent mourns! 

In dreams I see a little mound 
Beneath the midnight rain; 

But I shall never, never see 
My living boy again. 

On dark, tempestuous nights I feel 

My sorrow and my loss; 
And I could spend my life beneath 

The shadow of the cross. 
A touch of heartache and despair 

Comes with the wind and rain; 
And I shall never, never see 

My bright-eyed boy again. 



A BEREAVED MOTHER'S WAIL 29 



Ah! life is like a night of storm 

In which no star appears; 
My light has dim'd, and I am left 

In darkness and in tears! 
The flowers will bloom above his tomb 

In sunshine and in rain; 
But I shall never, never see 

My cherub boy again! 



30 



POUR DOWN, O PITILESS RAIN 

Pour down, O pitiless Rain! 

Blow, Winds, across the skies! 
A wilder storm and a greater flood 

Are in our hearts and eyes! 

On earth are a million souls 

That never may quench their thirst, 

But they rave and rave, like guilty things 
That a righteous God hath cursed! 

And some go down to the sea — 

No matter how hard it storms — 

And toiling fishermen soon bring up 
Their stark and ghastly forms! 

Chant a requiem, then, O Wind! 

Like a mourner, weep, O Rain! 
Death strikes the earth like an avalanche- 

Ho! Ho! the countless slain! 



JOHN BROWN 

"Have at ye," cryetli old John Brown, 

'Gainst Slavery's ramparts running; 
"Have at ye," cryeth old John Brown, 

And set the world a-gunning. 
He looked upon the negro, and 

Exclaimed, "Thou art my brother;" 
He took the negro by the hand 

As one man might another. 

A fearless captain, who foresaw 

Beyond the present action, 
He clashed with Wrong, tho' backed by law, 

Demanding satisfaction. 
For those poor souls who crouched in dread 

In swamp, and fen, and hollow, 
He buckeled on his sword, and led 

When there were few to follow. 



31 



32 



JOHN BROWN 



Then came that mad and fatal charge 

That shook a wondering nation, 
And Slavery's crime, grown wondrous large, 

Burst like a revelation! 
And when, reviling Freedom's sons, 

The South became contrary, 
A solid North backed up the guns 

That roared at Harper's Ferry! 

He may have been too hasty — may 

Have over-stepped his duty, 
But O! his record shines to-day 

Clothed in celestial beauty! 
Some claim the martyr went to hell, 

By some, his deeds are cherished; 
But Freedom rose and Slavery fell 

When that brave spirit perished! 



MY LITTLE GIRL 

I was sitting one night in her chamber, 

With a dull, heavy pain in my breast, 
For I knew that my darling was drifting 

To the shadowy land of the blest. 
And I knelt there alone in the silence, 

In the depth of my sorrow made wild, 
And I cried, "Oh, God! spare my baby— 

My little rosebud of a child!" 

Then I heard the faint voice of my darling 

Calling,"Papa, turn here to my side, 
For I has dot sumfin' to tell you," 

Then she said — talking on while I cried — 
'Ts doin' to where mamma is waitin', 

And I know you will turn by-and-by, 
Den we'll all live todezer in heaven — 

Oh, my own dear, good papa, don't cry! 



33 



34 



MY LITTLE GIRL 



"For I'll spend half the time wiv my mamma, 

And half the time, papa, wiv you; 
And each night I is tumin' from heaven 

To kiss you good-night, papa, too, 
And Oh, papa! don't fink I'll fordet you, 

When I dets in my home in the sky, 
For I's doin' to bring mamma to see you — 

Now, papa, turn kiss me good-bye!" 

Oh, the heart it were surely inhuman, 

Were it cold at a moment like this! 
And I clasped the frail form to my bosom 

And imprinted a passionate kiss 
On the dear little face that was fading, 

As the shadows of death came on — 
Then a pitiful sob and a whisper, 

And the soul of my baby was gone. 



THE HERMIT 

"The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the 

settlements, 
Sings by himself a song." — Walt Whitman. 

They look upon my shaggy brows, my unkempt 

hair, and all 
The roughness of my clothes and speech as one 

long held in thrall; 
I only laugh that churlish hearts should think 

to pity me — 
A dweller in a cabin by the ever singing sea! 

Mine is the land, and mine the sea, and mine 

the starry skies, 
And mine the beasts that roam the fields — the 

birds whose melodies 
Make all the echoing woodlands ring — all 

these belong to me, — 
A dweller in a cabin by the ever singing sea! 



35 



36 



THE HERMIT 



And mine the ships now dimly seen upon the 

ocean's rim, — 
(I dream they come from heavenly ports with 

messages from Him;) 
And mine the rain, the wind, the storm — all 

these are joys to me — 
A dweller in a cabin by the ever singing sea! 

Far from the city factory 's smoke — mine is the 
chosen sky 

For the wild geese that southward go in col- 
umns sailing by; 

And mine the life which sweeter grows each 
passing day to me — 

A dweller in a cabin by the ever singing sea! 

And mine the heart unbroken — mine the happy 

dreams fulfilled, 
And mine the love for God and man that never 

can be chilled; 
And mine the heaven — here or there, it matters 

not to me — 
A dweller in a cabin by the ever singing sea! 



MY WIFE AND CHILDREN 

I will sing of my children, 
And the mother who swings 

The wee tot in the cradle, 
While she cheerily sings, 

From a heart full of music, 
All the sweet lullabies 

Which the angels who hear them 
Learn to sing in the skies! 

For my children are blossoms, 
And my wife is a rose, 

And their love is the perfume 
Of my spirit's repose. 

Like the sunlight of heaven, 
When the shadows depart. 

Are the smiles of my blossoms 
And the rose of my heart! 



37 



THE NIGHT EXPRESS 

"Jim Blake, your wife is dying," 

Went over the wires to-night; 
The news was brought to the station 

By a lad half dead with fright. 
He burst in the office cryin\ 

An' his face was awful white — 
"Telegraph dad on his engine — 

Mother is dyin' to-night!" 

Jim Blake's our oldest driver, 

He's runnin' the night express; 
An' he's pulled a throttle-lever 

The most of his life, I guess. 
An' when I heard that message 

Was for old comrade Jim, 
You bet I sent in a hurry 

That 'ere dispatch to him. 



38 



39 



THE NIGHT EXPRESS 



In less than half an hour 

Jim's answer came up from Kerr — 
"Tell wife, I'll be there at midnight, 

Tell her I'm prayin' for her." 
Then I left my son in the office, 

While I took the news to his wife; 
An' I found a dyin' woman, 

With scarcely a breath of life. 

An* when I entered her chamber, 

She took me at first for Jim; 
An' she sank back nigh exhausted 

When she found it wasn't him. 
Then she turned her eyes to heaven, 

While her lips grew deathly white, 
An' said in a dyin' whisper — 

"God speed the express to-night!" 



Seems as if Jim hears the whisper, 
For he throws all fear aside, 

And, with fervent prayer to heaven, 
Pulls the throttle open wide. 



40 



THE NIGHT EXPRESS 

O'er hill, and bridge, and valley, 

Thunders a midnight train; 
'''Old Lightning" sobbing and throbbing, 

Under the fearful strain. 
But Jim holds on to the lever, 

A-guidin' her crazy flight: 
While a voice comes out of the darkness — 

"God speed the express to-night!" 

5|C #{S *j» *$» *p 

In something less than an hour, 

The express will be along — 
Hallo! Here's another message; 

My God! there's something wrong! 
Yes! here it says, "Disaster," 

"Express train in the ditch;" 
"The engineer is dying;" 

"Derailed by an open switch." 
An' here is another message, 

From the engineer, I guess: — 
"Dear wife, we'll meet in heaven — 

Don't watch for the night express!" 



IDEAL LOVERS 

She was the one spirit to guide him, 
To keep his heart tender and warm; 

And he was the shepherd to shield her 
In the hour of stress and of storm. 

And she was the maker of pathos, 
And he the creator of wit; 

And she was the patron of music, 
And he was the master of it. 

And she was the light of his being, 
And he was her hero, meseems; 

Ah, she was the angel of action, 

And he wa3 the dreamer of dreams. 



And their love was a love that forever 
Had knitted their spirits as one; 

And their light was the light of the moon and 
the stars 
Till the day of their journey was done. 



41 



42 



IDEAL LOVERS 



And they twain were so happy, so happy, 
They heeded not winter nor spring; 

For she had the soul that could listen, 
And he had the heart that could sing. 

And out of the day of their rapture, 

And into the night of their gloom, 

Their spirits flew far to the regions that are 
Forever in blossom and bloom. 



THE BATTLE OF THE POETS 

Hail to the Southern poets! 

Sweet souls once held in doubt; 
Who mingled with their music 

The Southern battle shout. 
They sang, and fought for Freedom 

With loyal hearts and true; 
Just as we sang and fought, my boys. 

From the Northern point of view. 

'Twas brother warring brother, 

Each chivalrous and brave; 
One sworn to hold his chattel, 

One sworn to free the slave. 
And which was right? Jehovah 

Will seal the answer true! 
All that the South has suffered, 

The North has suffered, too. 



43 



44 



THE BATTLE OF THE POETS 



Ho! men from Southern valleys, 

Ho! men from Northern hills, 
Purge from your hearts forever 

The hate that wounds and kills! 
Let rise the mingled music, 

From hearts grown kind again, 
The joyous anthem * 'Gloria" — 

Love's holiest refrain. 



Hail to the Southern Poets! 

Who with inspired art 
Have sung the songs that nestle 

Deep in the Northern heart. 
To Tick nor, Hayne, and Timrod 

The laurel wreath belongs — 
flail to the Southern Poets 

And their immortal songs! 



FAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR 

I 

Within a thicket, — sober, dun, — 
For joy that Freedom's fight was won, 
A bird sat singing in the sun. 

So quaint, so rare the melody, 
The critics straightway came to see 
The newly risen prodigy. 

Then, as the bird flashed into view. 
Their wonder and amazement grew — 
A mocking bird of ebon hue! 

Nor did they yet believe, until 
The bird let loose a lyric trill 
That smote their hearts with rapturous 
thrill. 

Then, with a sense of awe profound, 
The critics gathered close around, 
And soon the ebon bird was crowned! 



45 



46 



PAUL LAWREXCE DUXBAR 



II 



O singer! in close fellowship 

With the immortals — lip to lip — 

Who now would guess that ? neath the whip 

Of Slavery's gigantic wrong 

Thy dull forefathers trudged along ? — 

Yet sprang from these thy peerless song! 



TWO GRAVES 

I stood within the graveyard walls, 
The day was bright and fair. 

Ah! that lone city hath few calls, 
And mourning hearts are rare 

When warm the sun shines overhead, 
And life seems bright and gay; 

Yet two came there to mourn the dead 
On that fair summer's day. 

The first — she came with rare perfume- 
She was a fashion dame; 

She knelt before a marble tomb, 
And softly breathed a name. 

So lightly did the winds arise 

To waft her prayer to God, 

It might have been the breath or sighs 
Of those beneath the sod. 



47 



48 



TWO GRAVES 



But when she bade the grave adieu 
Her lips were wreathed in scorn. 

And deep within my heart I knew 
That she came not to mourn. 

And of her face one glance I took 

As she passed stately on; 
It bore the cold and haughty look 

As of a duty done. 

The next — a woman weak and frail — 

Came slowly up the walk; 
Her eyes were bright with holy light, 

Her cheeks were white as chalk; 

And yet upon her pale, fair face, 

A light of beauty shone, 
Which well befit the sacred place 

Where now she knelt alone. 

Oh, Death had made her strong and brave, 
And through her tears she smiled, 

As down she knelt beside the grave 
Where slept her only child. 



TWO GRAVES 



She pressed her hands upon the sod, 
Forgetting grief and care, 

And with her eyes upturned to God, 
She breathed a tender prayer. 

Ah! meekly did she hold her head — 
Her faith in God was strong; 

And when she came to mourn the dead 
She brought her heart along! 

She was not skilled in worldly arts, 
She wore no costly furs, 

Yet when she knelt to pray, my heart's 
Best prayer went up with hers! 



49 



DAR'S A GRAND DAY COMIN' 

Dar's a grand day comin' — but de tu'key 

doesn't know it; 
Dar's a grand day comin' fer de artist en 

de poet; 
De artist makes de picture, en de poet writes 

de lines — 
When de tu'key 'gins ter eatin' f'om de 

watermelon rin's! 

De keers am gittin' crowded — folks agoin' 

east en west; 
En de fat man, you will notice, is a-loosin' 

up his vest! 
O de pu'son's mighty lucky what's envited out 

ter dine, 
When de tu'key 'gins ter eatin' f'om de 

watermelon rin'! 



50 



DAR'S A GRAND DAY COMIN' ri 



Mos' ebrybody smilin' dat you meet upon de 

street; 
Dar whettin' up dar appetite ter eat, en eat, 

en eat; 
En de knocker en de kicker come a-steppin' 

inter line, 
When de tu'key 'gins ter eatin' f'om de 

watermelon rin'! 

Dar's a grand day comin'— it's de Feast Day 

ob de year; 
Thanksgibbin' Day is comin', en it's 'proach- 

in' mighty near! 
You kin tell de cheerful season by de neber- 

failin' sign, 
When de tu'key 'gins ter eatin' f'om de 

watermelon rin'! 



THE CROSS GOES WITH THE CROWN 

Ye who toil on, with much of grief to bear. 

Along life's dusty turnpike, up and down, 

Take this to heart — 'twill soothe you like a 
prayer— 
"The Cross goes with the Crown." 



And thou whose footprints with thy blood are 
wet, 

Remember, tho' no flower thy path adorns, 
God had some holy purpose when He set 

Thy feet among the thorns. 

There is eternal joy for him who deems 
No single duty shall be sacrificed. 

And in his daily thoughts and nightly dreams 
Walks hand in hand with Christ. 



52 



DELAREY 

(1901) 

Our hearts are with Delarey, 

The dauntless Bogr commander 
With England's wrath coquetting — 

O long may he withstand her! 
Long may the valiant Burghers 

(God save and heaven speed 'em) 
Walk on the rag of tyrants 

Beneath the flag of Freedom! 

Shall England win, thro' numbers 

And cannon big and thunderous ? 
O not till Wrong has triumphed, 

And Right lies trampled under us! 
Above the idle boasting 

Of England's blazoned splendors, 
The world is still applauding 

The Transvaal's brave defenders. 



53 



54 



DELAREY 



O English greed of glory! 

Insatiate — unceasing — 
The hunger of the Shylock 

In no way seems decreasing. 
Tyrant to weaker nations, 

Respectful to your equal, 
Master of little foemen: — 

And what shall be the sequel? 

A vaunt! O cruel England! 

Give back the pirate's plunder! 
Release the chained captive! 

Revoke the cannon's thunder! 
And every little nation, 

With Freedom's banner flying. 
Will give you the vast treasure 

Of gratitude undying! 



INDIRECTION 

Hope overcomes the strongest fears, 

Joy throws her arms 'round sorrow; 

The eyes today so thick with tears 
Will smile again tomorrow. 

To him who wjilks a thorny way 

Let needful help be given; 
For he who walks the earth today 

Will soar tomorrow's heaven. 

Today, sad thoughts within thee rise, 

The burial-bells a-ringing; 
Tomorrow, bright and sunny skies, 

Thy heart in rapture singing! 

I taste the joys of life divine, 

Tho' fortune ne'er hath found me, 

With loving hearts that beat with mine 
And loving arms around me. 

t-OFC 55 



56 



THE DARING SOLDIER BOY 

I sing a rhyme to suit the time 

When guns are belching forth; 
And men arise with battle cries, 

East, west, and south and north. 
When stalks away, to war's wild play, 

The parents' pride and joy: 
With gun so bright and heart so light, — ■ 

The daring soldier boy! 

The soldier leaves — the mother grieves; 

Her loving eyes are wet; 
The father mourns at heart, but scorns 

To show his feelings yet. 
To her, to him, the sun grows dim, 

For life has lost its joy; 
And two hearts pray for him away — 

Their daring soldier boy! 



THE DA PING SOLDIER BOY 



57 



Long, anxious days: the battle's blaze 

Grows fiercer o'er the land; 
The armies meet — "Advance!"-" Retreat !" 

Then comes the final "Stand!" 
See, how they flee! 't is victory! 

The drum beats wild with joy! 
But, hush the drum, two hearts lie dumb — 

Where is their soldier boy? 

Ere lamps are lit, two bent forms sit 

Beside the fire's glow; 
White lips in prayer show heart's despair, 

And tears that seep and flow. 
While o'er the land, from strand to strand, 

The nation shouts for joy, 
Can they forget, can they forget, 

Their daring soldier boy? 



A HOME SONG 

When yer day o' toil is over, an' ye 're gittin' 

home at night, 
O ye're bound ter feel good-humored when 

ye see the kitchen light, 
An' yer wife a-gittin' supper, ez she bustles 

'round the place 
Singin' some ol' tender love-song with a smile 

upon her face! 

O ye're somethin' less than human 
Ef ye don't join in the song, 

With the che'rful little woman 
'At is helpin' ye along! 

You maybe aint got riches, ner the things that 

gold will buy, 
But ef ye've got a woman's love you hadn't 

ort'er sigh; 



58 



■ A HOME SONG 59 



Fer, with her smile to cheer ye on, ye're 

bound to win success, 
An* ef yer home aint heaven, w'y, it's yer 

own fault, I guess! 

So ye'd better, then, be faithful 

To the girl ye've made yer wife; 

Treat her kindly, ez you'd ort'er, 
An' she'll love ye all her life. 



THE OLD SONGS AND THE NEW 

The old songs are the grand songs 
We love as gems of art; 

The new songs are the sweet songs 
That captivate the heart. 

The old songs are the battle-hymns — 
With music's wondrous roll — 

The new songs are the melodies 
From some true poet's soul ! 



A CUBAN'S LOVE SONG 

(1897) 

Dear little love, I wonder if she'll miss me 

When afar I roam — 
Dear little bride, I wonder if she'll kiss me 
When I come back home? 
For ere beloved Cuba 

Smiles 'neath tomorrow's sun 
I, with true-hearted comrades, 

Shall march with sword or gun 
Out where the musket's rattle 

Breathes death in every tune — 
I go, to spend in battle 
A patriot's honeymoon! 



60 



A CUBAN'S LOVE SONG 



61 



I go, and leave behind me 

My fair and peerless bride, 
And, ah, to free dear Cuba 

I'd leave the world beside! 
I go from those who love me 

To fill a nameless grave, 
Or to see, in the skies above me, 
The flag of Freedom wave! 
Dear little love, I know she'll cry and miss me 

When afar I roam — 
Dear little bride, I know she'll smile and kiss me 
When I come back home! 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR 

Tenderly the pale moon beams 
In upon my couch of dreams; 
I awaken: someone stands 
Near me with white, trembling hands, 
And with eyes whose misty light, 
Gemmed with tears, I read aright — 
Their veiled secret full confessed, 
Now no longer dimly guessed. 

Wife and children press around; 
Now I hear the smothered sound 
As of sobbing, borne, it seems, 
Thro' the gateway of my dreams. 
Ha! who steals away my breath — 
Can it be that this is death? 
As the midnight shadows fall, 
Death and darkness over all. 



62 



THE BREAKING OF THE LEVEE. 

(A Louisiana Overflow.) 

Jem seemed to know a great deal more than 
ordinary men, 

He'd gaze intently at the stars, with mum- 
bled prayer, and then — 

Like one awake, yet dreaming — he'd foretell 
the great events 

He saw within the vista of a frowning Prov- 
idence. 



He called himself a prophet, though he passed 

without renown, 
And thus his genius smoldered in the quaint 

old Southern town; 
But now he'll get a monument, that all the 

world may know 
He warned the people on the flats against 

the overflow! 



63 



64 



THE BREAKING OF THE LEVEE 



One day he ran into the town and raised a 

dreadful yell, 
Then rushed into the village church and wildly 

rang the bell; 
"A flood — a flood !" the prophet cried, "will 

sweep o'er Trinidad!" — 
They promptly locked the fellow up and swore 

the man was mad! 



That night the sky got blurred and black, a 

storm was on the towD, 
And with a mighty thunder-clap the rain came 

pouring down ; 
All night the raging river rose — the bank was 

wearing thin — 
And just at dawn the Levee broke and let the 

waters in! 



An ocean broke upon the flats — a dreadful 

thing to see! 
While lightning flashed and thunder crashed 

in wildest revelry! 



THE BREAKING OF THE LEVEE 65 



The sea came in and on and up and swallowed 

all the land, — 
Against its mighty onward sweep no living 

thing could stand! 



At times above the tempest's roar was heard 

a woman's scream, 
And of a distant signal light there came the 

faintest gleam; 
So swiftly sped the flying flood — the sudden 

bursting sea — 
That some were caught within their homes 

ere they had time to flee. 



But where was Jem, the prophet? — he had, 

somehow, broke from jail, 
And when the seething flood came on, 'mid 

lashing of the gale, 
He forced his way from house to house — climbed 

over window-sills, 
And gathered children in his arms and bore 

them to the hills. 



66 



THE BREAKING OF THE LEVEE 



Right in the storm's wild fury, when the sky 

and sea were black, 
Some kindly folk took hold of Jem and tried 

to hold him back; 
"No! no!" he cried, "till all are saved I'll not 

remain on shore;" 
The prophet sprang into the night — but he 

returned no more. 



And when again the sun shown down upon the 
murky heath, 

'Twas like a light from heaven thrown upon 
the shores of death; 

The little town was lost to sight — its build- 
ings great and small — 

Except the church's gleaming spire that rose 
above it all. 



In grief the people waited till the mighty flood 

went down, 
And then they sought the missing 'mid the 

ruins of the town; 



67 



THE BREAKING OF THE LEVEE 



And far across the lowlands where the yeomen 

have their farms, 
They found the faithful prophet with a babe 

clasped in his arms! 



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